Unchained Melody
by EarwenLalaith
Summary: Amar and Kartik are back in India, and Kartik discovers the existance of a broken music box, determined to fix it with Amar's help. In the process, Kartik ends up learning more about life than the box's mechanics!


Unchained Melody

He hadn't meant to take it. Really, he hadn't. It had been lying there, in the middle of the marketplace, like someone had thrown it away. Why wouldn't he keep it? Obviously someone hadn't wanted it. Obviously it had been neglected by someone. Obviously, someone hadn't known what they had. It happened so often. People ended up forgetting what they had, or they simply changed their minds, no longer wanting what they had cherished so dearly in the first place. Really, it was tragic. He figured he was doing the world a favour, picking up all these lost treasures. Besides, it was a lovely little thing, and curiously, every time it opened, it played music, like magic. It was a nice little tune, sweet and wanting, almost sad.

He'd heard of those things, to be sure, but to actually see one! It was too good to be true. It was a dainty little steel box, designs of hearts and angel wings adorned all around it. The inside was cushioned in deep pink velvet. But the most curious part was when he opened it, a little porcelain doll popped up, and began to twirl, as if willing herself to dance, but she couldn't get out. She had red hair, little green dots for eyes, and her skirt was short and made of fabric. She wore the oddest shoes, unlike anything he'd ever seen. They were wrapped around her ankles, and she was standing on the tips of her toes. He imagined it must hurt quite painfully.

Did women actually wear such things?

He prayed not, but all the same, it was a lovely figure, and the music was soothing to him, so he kept it. However, after playing the song once, he began to realize that it was missing something; a part of the song was missing. The music box was broken. Saddened, he promised himself he'd try to fix it. Only...he wasn't sure how to, exactly. He wondered if his brother would know. Yes. Amar would know. Amar knew everything. So he'd tucked the small box carefully in his rucksack, and he'd headed back towards the small makeshift home Amar had found for them.

India did not go well with Kartik. It was meant to be home for him, but he found it increasingly difficult to _live _in. The roads were always covered in sand and it was impossible to see, the people were loud and imposing, and everywhere he looked, someone was trying to sell something. It was, in a word, stuffy. Amar loved it. Kartik did not. Kartik preferred the European life he'd begun to adjust to. It was easier to fit in, and find one's place. In India, it was very difficult to find one's place, as everyone was everywhere all at once. He supposed, if he'd known his family, and where he belonged, he'd like India. Amar had been much older, when the Rakshana had recruited them. He remembered India. Kartik always resented him for that, albeit how much he honoured his brother.

"Pardon me," Kartik muttered, passing by some British soldiers standing near the small marketplace. The soldiers chuckled at him, and Kartik was reminded why he was annoyed with India. It wasn't India. It was British land. The British ought to have stayed in Britain, and left the Indians to India. But nobody minded their own business, and the British least of all. As much as Kartik missed that country, he did not miss the people. The British were possibly the most horrid people he'd ever met, full of arrogance. From rich aristocrat to poor beggar, they all had some ounce of arrogance in them. It wasn't something he understood, and when he'd asked Amar, his brother had chuckled, saying, "When in Britain, be like the British! But you do not need to, Kartik. You have arrogance and pride enough for all of India!" Kartik did not think he did, but he never crossed his brother's judgement. Amar always seemed to know best.

It did not take Kartik long to find the little stone cottage. It was always the same people around it; the tiny fruit stand woman was just across from them, trying to sell to the wealthy British settlers, the soldiers standing near the stand, talking up a storm to the old woman's daughter... It never changed, and Kartik wished to be back in the ever-changed world he knew. This dull life did not agree with him. However, they would not be here long, so he forgave Amar.

The house was very small, for two people to stay in. There was only room for one bed, and as Amar was always out late, he had insisted that his brother take it. Kartik had learnt long ago not to argue with his brother, and did as Amar asked without question.

Amar was a quiet man. He did not like to raise his voice unless necessary, and when he did speak, it was always something worth saying. Many times, however, he chose to say nothing, preferring to think than to 

speak. There were papers all around him, as he sat on the stone ground, hunched over them, putting painstaking effort into the letter he was writing. Kartik would never understand Amar. He took things so seriously. Sometimes, Kartik thought, too seriously. Why were they in Bombay anyways? Amar had said they'd never come back. Why did they?

"Ah, little brother," Amar smiled, looking up, putting down his pen delicately. He shook the paper out, letting the ink dry. "Where have you been? I was beginning to worry."

"You never worry," Kartik replied, placing his rucksack delicately at the foot of the bed, sitting on the cold floor, legs crossed.

Amar frowned. "That's not fair," he put the paper down, regarding Kartik, puzzled. "I worry about you all the time. It's my duty, as your older brother."

Kartik fiddled with a stray thread dangling from his sleeve, eyes focused on the thread only. His hair fell into his face, making it extremely difficult for Amar to even have an idea of what was going through the boy's head. Kartik was so very good at masking things; pretending he didn't feel anything ever. "I thought your duty was to Rakshana first."

Sighing, Amar crawled over to where Kartik was sitting, and sat next to him, wrapping an arm around Kartik's shoulders. He was still so young. He kept forgetting _how _young. Kartik always made their age gap seem so slight, he spoke so deeply, so maturely. It unnerved and saddened Amar. Kartik never really had a proper childhood. He ought to have. "Listen, little brother, and listen well. Rakshana is a way of life. It is not my life. It is the path I choose to walk my life on. No matter what, I am always your brother. Rakshana doesn't change that."

"Yes it does," Kartik retorted indignantly. "It must! Rakshana is family. We cannot be loyal to our parents, and the Rakshana, you said that! So that must mean you can't be loyal to me and Rakshana too!" His voice only was the betrayer of how worried he actually was about the whole thing.

Amar tried not to smile. He ruffled Kartik's hair, shaking his head. "Little brother, you think far too much. You should be chasing girls, making mischief, being young! Instead, you think of the ways of the Rakshana. I think it was a mistake to bring you with me," he paused. "Rakshana is a brotherhood. So...yes, parents cannot be part of it any longer, but as brothers, we already share the bond of the Rakshana. In taking care of you, I am doing my duty to you as a brother, as I am to the Rakshana, as one of them."

Kartik opened his mouth, as though to question what Amar had said, but then closed it abruptly, a deep crease setting into his brow. "I don't need anyone to take care of me," he muttered. "I can take care of myself."

"Says the boy who almost got trampled by a cow less than a week ago," Amar smirked, laughing loudly. He was never afraid to laugh, to smile, to be himself. He was like an open book. It didn't take a stranger long to know exactly what he was thinking, or how he was feeling. Kartik could not understand him. Why would he want to betray himself to the world? Did he not realize people would take advantage of him? If he did, he chose to disregard it, being as loud as possible. The only time Kartik could not make his brother out was when he was with the Rakshana. It was as if he closed down; a book closed with a lock. The light left his eyes, and his voice was never playful. When dealing with the Rakshana, Amar was another person. One Kartik wasn't sure he enjoyed very much. For, as different as he was from Amar, he wouldn't be able to enjoy life without his brother. His brother was the only one able to make him laugh on a rainy day. Without Amar, Kartik knew he'd never be truly happy. He was his only family, after all.

Kartik's dark face broke out into a small, meek smile. "It was a very rude cow."

"But a cow nonetheless," Amar rolled his eyes, standing. "Now come, let's see if we can wield your manly charms upon the fruit woman's daughter, and get ourselves something to eat, yes?"

Kartik scowled visibly, standing also. "Why don't we wield _your _manly charms on her, and let me get the food?" He wasn't fond of the young girl, to be honest. She was so small, so shy, and yet, she was a year older than him. She had no confidence. It was horribly aggravating.

Amar laughed again, clapping Kartik on the back. "One day, little brother, you will want those manly charms. One day," he grinned. "It's the Rakshana way, you know."

"Now you're teasing me," Kartik's scowl grew, but it was replaced quickly by a smile. "Rakshana don't need women, or manly charms. Just the sword and the mind."

"By the book," Amar muttered, heading towards the door, when a small tinkling sound resonated through the room. It was quiet, and if he hadn't heard it before, he would not have noticed it. His eyes narrowed, eyeing the rucksack Kartik had brought in. He knelt down, a look of horror and shame passing over Kartik's face. He opened the bag, pulling out the small music box, his eyes narrow slits now. He shook his head, tossing the thing to Kartik, his eyes dimmed. "What's this, little brother? Hmm?"

Kartik took the music box carefully in his hands, not daring to look at Amar. He swallowed hard. "I found it. In the streets. Someone had left it there! I had to do something about it...another rude cow might have come and crushed it!"

"So you decided to take it upon yourself to gather other people's lost belongings," Amar scoffed, glaring at the small box. "Someone's probably looking for that, you know. They've probably lost it, and you have it now! Really, Kartik, when will you learn?"

Another thing about Amar. He could change moods so quickly. He had been so happy before, and now he was angry, because of a _music box_. It was really quite silly. Still, it was enough to make Kartik feel ashamed. He did not like when Amar was angry; it happened so rarely. "I am sorry," he said quietly, putting the music box on the bed. "It's broken," he said, as if as an explanation. "I was hoping you would help me. Fix it, I mean."

Amar raised a sceptical eyebrow. He could never understand what sorts of things went through his brother's head. Really, it was rather confusing. He seemed so stoic, and yet he was perfectly willing to allow himself to give in to such a small fancy as this. Why he should be drawn to the small music box, Amar could simply not comprehend. The tune was simple, and not exceptionally special in any way, yet it had captured Kartik's heart in a way nothing else could. For that simple reason, Amar relinquished, nodding slowly. "Fine. I will help you. Then you return it to where you found it. It is not ours to take."

Another small, wavering smile graced Kartik's face. He nodded fervently. "Of course; I shall return it directly."

"Good," Amar took hold of the box, all thought of food forgotten, and set to work. It didn't take long to discover the problem. The chords were no longer in synch, they'd fallen apart. When he had figured it out, it was a matter of tweaking the mechanisms, of replaying the song over and over again, and finally deciding when it was finally in tune. Proud of his work, Amar handed the music box to Kartik. "There, little brother. It is finished."

Kartik took it in his hands, turning the small crank on the side, listening to the small, delightful tune, watching the dancer twirl and spin, as if all cares in the world were gone. He smiled, and it was the best thanks Amar could imagine.

"What makes you like it so much?" Amar asked curiously, seeing the sheer joy written upon his brother's face.

"It's simple," Kartik shrugged. "It's a beautiful tune. It reminds me of England. It's lovely."

Amar chuckled, knowing he'd never really understand Kartik. Not ever. He wouldn't even try. It saddened him, to think he was so different from his brother that he could not understand him, but it was Kartik's way, and if a music box's restoration was enough to amuse him, then so be it. Amar would not question him. "I don't 

know why would you want to be reminded of England," he said suddenly. "I love India. I'd be satisfied, you know, if I was not Rakshana, with-"

"A fat Indian wife, ten children and a pipe," Kartik finished, still smiling. "Yes. I imagine you would be. You like that sort of thing. I would not. It would make me miserable, to be glued to the same place for so long."

"You say that now," Amar said quietly. "But when you have seen what I have seen of men, you'd be wishing for a home and a family too."

Kartik did not agree with his brother. He would never want to settle down in such a boring way. It would not be his way in life. What would be the purpose of life, if all he was meant to do was make children, and smoke a pipe till he was old and gray? It made no sense. He thought Amar was becoming a bit addled, the older he was, but he'd never say so.

Satisfied Kartik had listened to him, Amar stood, taking the music box. "Now come. We must bring it back."

Kartik nodded, clutching the box close, walking out into the busy streets of Bombay once more. Amar straightened, no longer the emotional, wonderful brother Kartik knew, but a proud member of the Rakshana, his dignity plastered onto his face. He turned to Kartik, motioning towards a red-headed girl with her mother, also a red-head. The girl was pretty, he admitted. Her eyes were green as emeralds, and she had endearing little freckles all along the bridge of her nose. He frowned, looking at Amar. Was this another one of his schemes?

"Look," Amar said simply, and Kartik did, seeing the girl was not very happy. Her mother looked angry, and was speaking quite sharply to her. The girl didn't seem to care, but her mother really did. Amar looked down at the music box. "The girl lost it."

Realization dawned on Kartik, and he hastened to put the box back where he'd found it, all selfish desire forgotten. He didn't think it was fair the girl should be in trouble on his account. He snuck towards the table where they were, and placed the box haphazardly next to a pile of bananas, returning to Amar somewhat saddened, but at ease with his conscience. He'd done a good thing.

The girl's eyes sparkled as she spotted the box, and her brow knitted together in confusion. She pointed it out to her mother, who, relieved, smiled, and for a moment, seemed to be looking directly at Amar and Kartik, then, as quick as the look had come, it left, and the two disappeared into the crowd, the music box with them. Kartik sighed deeply.

Amar's face, before so unreadable, suddenly fleshed out, opened, raw. A look of pain shone on his face, but he tried to shrug it off. "Come. We must return."

Not understanding, Kartik cast a questioning look to Amar, who sighed deeply, watching the retreating figures. "Learn something, now, little brother," he said softly, wrapping his arm around Kartik's still narrow shoulders. Kartik looked up expectantly, curious and confused all at once.

"Unless held by a chain, nothing is truly yours."

A/N: HI PEOPLE. YES. I'M WRITING AGAIN. Like promised, I wrote a Kartik and Amar story. I think it turned out pretty well, and I'd love for reviews. If you have any ideas for a new story, please do let me know, and I will try my best! I enjoyed writing this immensely! Until later... scampers off with Kartik xD


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